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Chapter 16
Then
The jagged gashes wrapped from the left side of his rib cage to his back, the wounds so deep I could see muscle and bones. Darkness had descended but I could see his wounds were still wet, though they no longer oozed. His brown eyes were open to the sky, watching for any signs of a ciakoo’s silhouette against the stars.
And he was completely still.
“Pulled ‘im in ‘bout half mile off shore,” a gruff fisherman said.
“I was walking from the market and saw the commotion,” Elin said somberly.
“Looks like ‘e lost a fight with the Cliffs of Malarrey,” the fisherman said, his voice low. “Condolences, my ladies.” He bowed his head and walked back toward the docks.
I wasn’t looking at my father. It was impossible. I looked at the body on the ground, pale and foreign. The eyes, his familiar shape, but nothing else. No. This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. He never walked the cliffs.
My knees buckled not of my own accord and I hit the grass next to him, staring into those empty eyes, searching, seeking anything that didn’t look right, anything that would prove that the body that laid before me did not belong to my father. But then I noticed his cheekbones, his full lips. The tunic he had left the house in earlier, torn to shreds by the rocks below the cliffs. His hands were clenched, muscles flexed, and I knew that if I pried his hands open, I’d have my answer, that this was not my father. This man’s hands would be empty, meaning itcouldn’tbe my father.
I pulled his fingers back, the ringing in my ears deafening. His grip finally gave, and out tumbled a tiny stone the size of my pinky nail, burning blue. Lapis lazuli.
It’s strange — I heard nothing when the core of me died. I thought I’d hear my own screams echoing through my head, the pounding of my fists upon my father’s motionless chest, the sobs erupting from my mother behind me. But there was nothing. It was just icy, infinite silence as I watched the life I knew disintegrate in front of me once again, the ashes falling like snow to the ground.
I put all my strength into beating my father’s chest, begging him to wake up, to tell me about the stone he somehow found, to tell me why thefuckhe was on the Cliffs of Malarrey. The blood from his wounds rained in showers upon me with every impact of my fist, my mother holding his cheeks and screaming into his face towake the fuck up.Quassus mors was supposed to take his life, not a fall. Not now.Not yet.
Everything around me screeched to a halt, the only thing in this world was him. Getting him back. Getting him home. Shoveling steaming forkfuls of meat pies into his mouth and finishing with the tonic. Then we’d put him to sleep and tell him how we saw a lifeless man on the beach who looked unbelievably like him.
A crowd had begun to gather around us, the shadows of bystanders blocking the only moonlight we had. I roared at the crowd like an animal, feral in the pursuit of his life. A familiar voice sounded from behind me and a hand rested upon my shoulder, even as that very shoulder heaved my clenched fists into my father’s chest. “Petra,” the voice said, distant through the deafening ringing in my ears. “Petra.” The hand began to guide me back and I whirled around, prepared to strike the one who dared to prevent me from saving my father.
Solise stared up at me, dragging me from my father and passing me to bystanders who blocked my path and pushed me away. I swung my fists in every direction I could, connecting with cheeks and backs and shoulders until finally my arms were pinned to my side.
My screams were savage and through the crowd I caught a glimpse of my mother being dragged away too, her body thrashing as my father’s had, as mine had, fighting every hand that held her back. “Drink,” Solise called through the raging fog in my mind. “Drink, Petra!” She poured something into my screaming mouth. I was choking on it, gagging, spitting it into the air until a warm darkness began to close around the sides of my vision.
I let it swallow me whole, plunging into a world where my father was alive, Larka was alive, and the meat pies were ready to eat.
???
My tongue was dried to the roof of my mouth when I awoke, my eyes full of grit. I squinted in the muffled light filtering in through the window, breathing in the smell of dust and a lingering scent of cooked food and–
Da. I shot up, my head pounding in protest at the speed. I was in my parents’ room, my skin soaked with sweat and freezing, vague echoes ringing through my head. My mother laid to my left facing the wall, her petite body curled in on itself as she slept. I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes.
Solise stood at the stove stirring oatmeal in the only pot we owned. Hearing me enter the kitchen, she rested the spoon on the counter and strode to me, arms outstretched, silent. I accepted her hug and the moment my body hit hers, the gravity of last night hit me. This woman who had shown our family such kindness was doing so again.
My father wasdead.My sweet, innocent, loving father had died. Tears began to flow silently, dripping onto Solise’s robe. Her hand circled my back softly as I remembered everything in vivid detail. The bitter taste of the arri root that Solise had poured in my mouth rose thickly in the back of my throat, the sleep it had induced still heavy in my brain. I pulled away from Solise and collapsed into a chair at the makeshift table. I couldn’t look at his pile of things that still lay there undisturbed. Every time I tried to open my mouth to speak, my head pounded harder, louder. Solise saw me struggle and pulled the pot from the stove, placing it on a rolled up dishrag before taking a seat across from me.
“How are you feeling?” she said softly, kindly. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. I squeezed my eyes shut, sure that if I did so hard enough I would open them to a world where half of my family wasn’t dead. The tiny piece of lapis lazuli my father had held sat near the corner of the table, separate from the pile of his other finds. I reached for the stone, turning it over in my palm.
I opened my mouth to speak, but once again the words caught in my throat. Solise reached a hand toward me. “You don’t need to speak.” I closed my mouth as she rose, preparing me a bowl of porridge. I stared at the lump of slop in the bowl, the steam rising from it. Had my Da’s wound steamed in the cool air?
“Where is he?” I whispered. My throat was as raw as if I had swallowed a handful of gravel. The weight in my gut matched that feeling.
“I took him to my house.” I lifted my eyes to her. “I examined him for an exact cause of death and stitched the wound the best I could. You will need to bury him within the day, Petra.” My eyelids were heavy with exhaustion of every kind. “I brought you the clothes he wore — dressed him in some of the clothes Novis left behind.”
I nodded. “And…and he fell?” I choked out.
“So it seems, child,” she said woefully, her tone as stiff with mourning as mine. “Words cannot express how sorry I am.” I said nothing. A wave of nausea overtook me and I leaned over and began vomiting on the dank wooden floor, intent on expelling last night from my body. Solise quickly arrived at my side, gathering my tangled hair and resuming circles on my back as I heaved with every ounce of strength I had. I wretched until my body shook, my eyes were blurry, and my nose was running, then I leaned back and collapsed against the back of the chair. Solise wet a rag and placed it on my forehead as my mother stumbled into the kitchen.
Our eyes met, a million words passing between us as I watched her replay the scenes of last night, clutching her elbows across her chest. She looked so small. After a few moments, she fell to the floor and wailed.
